


Ideological Differences

by Reavv



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Gen, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reavv/pseuds/Reavv
Summary: Tsuna goes running from conflict like it will eat him up (and it has).Deku runs towards fights like he can consume them (and he has).No one would think they’re the same person.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who is only somewhat aware of the boku no hero plot, not sure how this one is going to go. Sorry in advance if I accidentally trample over your favs

Sawada Tsunayoshi is a boy who hates power. He’s never wanted it, never believed he was capable of having it, and that might be because he’s been trampled into the mud so hard it’s shaken something loose. He sees the bullies and the adults and teenages with knives in their hands and outright refuses. He likes reading manga and playing games and the girl with sunshine smiles but he doesn’t like the feel of blood on his hands.

Izuku Midoriya is a boy who loves power. He’s grown up with heroes in his head and heart and he craves it, for himself and for others. He’s a boy who’s been kicked into the ground and something’s broken loose, that need. It’s nothing inherently selfish, or so he thinks, to want to protect and to defend. But there will always be a part of him that gets blinded by the shine of being greater than human. He’ll spill his own blood a thousand times if it means he can hold that in his hands.

Tsuna goes running from conflict like it will eat him up (and it has).

Deku runs towards fights like he can consume them (and he has).

No one would think they’re the same person.

—

Izuku doesn’t tell anyone about the voice in his head. It’s not really a conscious decision, not something he thinks about too much, it’s just that he knows it’s not a Quirk and there’s nothing else it could be, so it has to be nothing.

When he’s young, young enough to still dream of the Quirk he’ll never have, he asks the voice what it is.

_Dead,_ Tsuna says, stark and vibrant but a little sad, and so he leaves it be. Izuku doesn’t like when people are sad, and he’s not yet old enough to have grasped the desire to fix it.

Instead he continues on his ever-growing obsession with heroes. The strong, and clever, and righteous. He watches all the shows, collects all the posters, learns to read so he can track stats and stories and victories. The voice is a fact of life that he mostly ignores, because it has nothing to do with heroes.

The dead do not come back, after all, and Izuku is too young for a Quirk. So the voice is nothing.

(Here’s the lie; the voice is everything. This is the lie; Tsuna says dead when he means: I am you.)

—

Tsuna cries often. As a child it was with skinned knees and shaking hands, great gasping cries and pitiful mewls. As an adult it was with silent tears on a smooth face, hands shaking with a different emotion.

Izuku cries too. He cries when he learns about the extra bone in his toe, cries when Kacchan starts being mean to him, cries when All-Might tells him he can’t be a hero.

Tsuna lifts his head up at that. Heroes aren’t made with fire and flash. They don’t smile at cameras and jockey over grades. A hero isn’t a badge, a checkmark on a list.

Fuck that, he says with Izuku’s mouth. He cups the trembling form of Izuku’s dreams in his hands and says: you can do better than them. He says: don’t trust men who say they can bring you greatness.

The voice in his head says no, when Izuku wishes he had All-Might’s strength. It says: your power should not be that of bulging muscles and smiling teeth. It points to his notebooks of notes, the strategies and plans and craftiness that lives just under Izuku’s skin. It shows him, image after image, of All-Might’s flaws.

A man might be able to break steel with his hands, but a man is still a man.

Breakable.

—

Here’s the difference between Izuku and Tsuna.

Tsuna fought for his weakness, for his peace. He bloodied his hands and the hands of his friends for safety bought at the price of power too hot to hold. He was pushed to the top by the hands of those that thought they knew more than him, and didn’t care about the burdens they slung onto the shoulders of children. Tsuna had power, and in the end, when the ashes settled and all was done, he cast it aside.

Izuku is beaten for his weakness, for his peace. He strives to crawl back up with his peers, to surpass them so he can one day inspire someone as being good, and powerful, and righteous. He pushes himself even though everyone else tells him to stop, and doesn’t care about the truth beyond the fact that his dream is his own to master. Izuku has peace, and in the end, when All-Might makes an offer that is too good to be true, he casts it aside.

Here’s where they are the same: when a man tells them that he can make them strong, stronger than anyone, they say no.

It is Tsuna’s experience that crafts the denial, it is Izuku’s dream that softens the blow. They look up at All-Might, confusion writ upon his face, and say with lips that tremble a little at the finality of their words.

All-Might might be Izuku’s hero, his idol, but the power he craves isn’t that of an inheritance. Izuku has always wanted to craft his own power. To be good, on his own.

Tsuna just doesn’t trust men who smile that much, but that’s the mafia in him talking.

—

The world Izuku lives in is different than Tsuna remembers. The Quirks, obviously, but also the way crime works. The mafia is filled with shadowy figures who smoke too much and don’t have any notion of the word Family, and are largely eclipsed by the more destructive villains. The yakuza are largely the same, except that their leadership is based on bloodlines of Quirks instead of wealth.

The pettiness of most common villains make him grind his teeth, and the others just make him shake his head. There’s no notion of business in it, of fiefdom and family and advancement. Just the flash of cameras and the bitterness of men whose power has let them strangle their own joy.

In his mind the heroes aren’t much better. Oh sure, he sees something salvageable in some of them, those whose drive is fueled by urges to protect, to guard, but a lot of them are just as blinded by the sparkle of what their power gives them.

He doesn’t say that though, because Izuku is so, so hopeful. He loves, with as pure of a heart as Tsuna’s ever seen, the idea of heroism. The city is Izuku’s city, the people are his people, and where villainy makes Tsuna mad, it just makes Izuku sad.

Here’s a boy who truly believes in good. Tsuna’s burned that part out of him long ago, and it makes him want to protect what innocence he can.

That’s why, when Izuku is asleep, it is Tsuna who slips from warm sheets and pads silently down the hall. It is Tsuna who slips out the door, and down the street. If they are to be heroes, men of power and might, than it’s about time he starts learning what it is they’re up against.

It would have been easier, of course, to take All-Might’s offer and go to Yuuei’s hero department. To inherit All-Might’s power.

But he is confident in Izuku’s ability to get into the general program, and more than anything, Tsuna refuses to be tied to someone else’s legacy anymore.

So this is what he does instead: he walks into the local drinking den and challenges the local information dealer to mahjong. The men are drunk off their heads and too dumb to question his age, and by the time he’s wracked in enough money to make them wisen up he’s halfway down the street with the money safely tucked into his pockets. They won’t remember his face, except for the one man smart enough to have stayed out of it, who took one look at the sharp edge to Tsuna’s eyes and smiled.

Tsuna’s mafia, no matter how little he likes it, and if Izuku wants to be a hero than that’s what they’ll be, but that doesn’t mean he can’t cultivate a few contacts just in case.

—

Yagi Toshinori doesn’t know what to make of Midoriya Izuku. Here’s a boy who is desperate to be a hero, who rushes into battle without a Quirk simply because it’s the right thing to do, who is obviously starstruck by All-Might—

Here is a boy who refuses One-For-All.

After years of searching, years of slowly waning strength, Toshinori has found someone to pass on the torch. And yet Izuku says no.

“I want to do it on my own,” the boy says with resolute eyes, and Toshinori just has to blink.

“You do know that heroes aren’t alone when they fight? It’s through the support of others that they are able to do what they do,” he says after a pause, words forming slowly.

Izuku nods.

“And that without a Quirk it will be impossible to get into the hero department at Yuuei, not to mention to get your license,” he continues, and the boy’s expression doesn’t even flinch.

“...vigilantism is illegal,” he finishes.

Izuku shrugs, picking at his dirty shirt. The scuff marks where the villain had him in its grasp are now buried under the dirt and debris of its capture.

“Most of that is directed at people with Quirks, you know, not using them in public and not fighting with them. No one thinks someone without a Quirk could even go up against someone with one,” the boy says, somewhat glumly.

Toshinori grimaces.

“That’s because it’s true. Listen, some of the Quirks that villains use are—” he’s interrupted by a rising feeling in his gut, the shivery sensation of his powers failing. He’s used up too much time.

“I have to go, but look, Midoriya, you could do a lot of good with a power like One-For-All. Think about it, ok?” he says, pausing for a second as if the boy will change his mind right there and then.

Izuku just blinks up at him, eyes sharp and almost amber in the streetlight.

He leaves before he turns back into his weak self, knowing as he does that another example of his weakness would not be the argument he needs. If disappointment hangs heavy in his gut, then it’s only him and his confused thoughts that need to know.

He deposits the slime-villain with the police at the station, thinks about the words that he said earlier to the boy, of professions more suited to those Quirkless, and has to flinch. Tactless, maybe, but it’s true. He has a lot of respect for the policemen and women on the force, but most of them wouldn’t be able to handle a villain with more power than the one oozing around in the bottle.

Without One-For-All Izuku will just die trying, if he tries at all, to fight any villain. Like how he almost died today.

He leaves Izuku’s, and his friend’s, details with the police. No doubt they will want to question them on what happened, and maybe one of the men on the force can convince the boy where he failed. If not to reconsider Toshinori’s offer then to impress upon him the dangers of heroics without a Quirk.

—

_You don’t need them,_ Tsuna murmurs.

“I can’t be a hero without a Quirk,” Izuku replies, something tired and defeated in his voice now that the danger has gone. He can’t believe he actually said no to All Might. For the chance of a Quirk, of becoming a hero like his idol.

_Yes, but what is a Quirk? Is it a manifestation of will? Of determination? The power of a soul? How do you even determine that?_

“The bone in my foot—”

_Izuku. What do you think I am?_

—

Here’s the thing that bothers Tsuna the most.

There are no Flames in this reality he’s living now. Quirks share some similarities but they're much more volatile. They follow no logic, have no rules. He frankly considers them somewhat of a mess. And they’ve made society a mess too: the abuse Izuku faces from the lack of one just highlights that.

So there are no Flames.

But he still has his. Diminished and faded without his Family with him, but there all the same. Flames are tied to the soul, after all, and it doesn’t matter how many times you reincarnate, they stick with you.

(He has to wonder how this universe is holding up, without the Tri-ni-set.)

So Izuku might not have the power of super-strength, or the ability to explode things he touches. But he has Tsuna, and Tsuna has enough power he’s already gone up the gods and won.

(Byakuran probably shouldn’t ever know Tsuna referred to him as a god, even in his head, for everyone’s sake. But he’s not here right now, and if he wanted his ego stroked he could get up off his high horse and bring Tsuna back to his own reality.)

_Here, let me show you,_ Tsuna says, cupping their hands together and ignoring the confusion he can feel under Izuku’s skin.

Who knows what type of Flame Izuku would have if he had been born in Tsuna’s world. Maybe he would have been like Tsuna, a sky robbed of a childhood, hating the sunlight that forced him into centre stage. Or maybe he would have been like Ryohei: sunshine smile and optimism. Or like Lambo: potential ever-reaching, a desperation to prove himself.

It doesn’t matter now, of course, because Izuku has Tsuna’s Flame, what’s left of it.

The orange Flame is fractured, a small sparking thing between his curled fingers, but it is there.

—

Izuku can’t really remember what his reaction was, to the flames. There’s a box in his head that stores all the things he doesn’t want to think about, like Kacchan’s cruelty and the possibility he’s never going to be a hero.

As much as he tries though, he can’t tuck the flames into that box. Maybe the doctors were wrong, he thinks. Maybe he does have a Quirk, and it’s like the hero Endeavor’s. Except the flames had no heat, didn’t burn, and no matter how he asked his mom, the x-rays don’t lie.

He spends weeks trying to find answers, goes over pages and pages of Quirk directories and research. He looks up obscure Hero and Villain profiles to try and match it up, but no matter how he looks he can’t find anything about Quirks manifesting this late.

By the time the fog lifts he’s applied and been accepted to do the entrance exams for Yuuei’s general department. He’s standing there like an idiot, pen tucked into his dishevelled hair and notebook clutched in his hands when a shiver runs down his spine and he blinks awake for the first time in what feels like forever.

_Heads up_ , the voice says, just as another voice booms out into the courtyard.

“DEKU!” Kacchan’s face is already red and drawn tight, pulled down into an impressive snarl. The voice perks up in his head and nudges his attention to the people behind Kacchan, who all turn at the commotion.

He can feel something that’s almost glee at the sight, which is somewhat confusing, since all Izuku feels right now is terror.

“Kacchan!” he yelps, hunching in a little, reflexively. Katsuki’s face only scrunches down further.

“What are you doing here?” Kacchan asks, stomping close, “there’s no way a Quirkless idiot like you could get into Yuuei.”

“That’s not nice, Kacchan,” Izuku’s mouth says for him. Inside the voice is practically vibrating.

“I’m not trying to be fucking nice!” Kacchan’s face is rapidly turning purple, and little sparks are forming at his fists.

The crowd in the background starts murmuring, but Izuku can’t really make out what they’re saying.

“Why not? It looks like there’s a chance we might both get into Yuuei!” Izuku doesn’t know what he’s saying, really, but it’s not anything he hasn’t wanted to say before anyways. Once upon a time it would have been both of their dream to get into Yuuei and become heroes together.

Unfortunately, now even just the idea of Izuku getting into Yuuhei is too much for Kacchan, who at this point is literally smoking.

“As if! You’re fucking useless! How many times do I have to tell you to fucking die?” he snarls, and usually it’s at this point that Izuku gets punched, but strangely ever since that day with the mud-monster Kacchan hasn't touched him.

“Yo! Brats!” a voice yells out, and almost as a whole the crowd turns.

There’s a teacher standing a little ways a way, watching them with sharp eyes. Izuku recognises him as Eraserhead, and feels a stirring of intense interest from his inner voice.

“Encouraging suicide can be considered manslaughter if a victim actually dies, and is pathetic behaviour for a hero,” Eraserhead says to Kacchan, the boredom in his voice belying the seriousness of his words.

Izuku watches Kacchan’s face purple even further.

“And you,” Eraserhead says, turning his attention to Izuku, “baiting a hero into a confrontation is at best a bad idea and at worst a villain’s tactic, so I would suggest you rethink your strategy.”

Izuku blinks, caught out. Was that what he was trying to do? He doesn’t think he was aiming for anything but sticking his foot in his mouth with all the taunting but—

_Idiot,_ the voice murmurs.

“And you’re all going to be late to exams if you loiter any more watching personal drama,” the teacher concludes, before sweeping away. There’s a mad scramble as the group disperses, rushing into the entrance hall.

“This isn’t over, Deku,” Kacchan snaps at him, before heading over to where the Hero Department is doing their tests.

_Yes it is,_ the voice says smugly, and Izuku would normally stop to think about that but the last thing he wants is to be late for his own exams, so he tucks the words into the back of his mind and hurries further into the campus.

—

Izuku makes it. There’s a moment when he thinks his lack of Quirk will hinder him even in the general program, but if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s making up for the lack of it. And Izuku is smart, smarter than most of his peers, forced as he has been into staying at home to study instead of being able to go outside and play with Quirks with friends.

He has to wait two weeks in terror that he won’t make it, but when he finally gets the letter, the relief almost makes up for it.

_You ready to actually talk, kid?_ the voice asks wryly as Izuku flops onto his bed in wide-eyed wonder. It’s not exactly the dream he had when he was younger, but it’s so close he can almost taste the bite of victory.

“What’s there to talk about?” he asks offhandedly, holding the acceptance papers up to the ceiling so he can admire the way the paper filters out his bedroom lights.

_About Flames, Izuku, and how to use mine_. The voice sounds amused, but there’s still that undercurrent of strength under the words. Like it won’t let him get away with saying no.

“...What are they?” he asks quietly, mind churning as he sits up. He hasn't found anything in his research that describes flames like his voice’s—at least, nothing that would make sense when it’s been proven that Izuku should, by all reason, be incapable of a Quirk.

_Will made real, a manifestation of your desires and regrets,_ the voice murmurs, _they normally follow certain personality traits but, well, that doesn’t matter anymore ._

“Huh?” Izuku leans forward a little, hands going towards his notebook before his mind is even made up. He thinks this might be the first time he’s actually paid much attention to his voice, or at least, enough to want to write it down.

_If you were to die today, what sort of things would you regret not doing? That is the power source of the Flames,_ the voice continues, and Izuku scrambles to write it all down.

“What do they do?” he asks.

_What do you want them to do?_ The voice says with something that sounds like amusement.

“What do you mean?”

_I already said it’s based off of your regrets and will. They can be used for all sorts of things, but they are always routed in those emotions. So, Izuku, what do you regret?_

—

Izuku has always wanted power. Enough to be equal with Kacchan, to be friends again. Enough to be able to realise his dream of being a hero. To be like his idols. But he’s never wanted it solely just to have power. He does not regret his Quirkless-ness, not really. If anything, he regrets living in a world where the supposed lack makes you a target, where heroes are only those with sparkle and shine and the ability to breath fire.

Tsuna’s never wanted power. Even when it was to save his friends and family, a part of him detested the use. His regret was always that in order to be safe in the mafia, you had to be constantly spilling blood. His Flames, developed in a supernatural war zone, reflect that. The gloves, to protect his hands while he dirties them, and the cape, as a shield.

_The first thing you’ll need to learn is how to use the intuition_ , he says, watching Izuku flip through his notebooks. _You’re already using it for certain things; mostly analysing hero abilities. But you’ll need to get used to it all the time._

“Intuition?” the boy asks, and Tsuna hums in thought, but doesn’t answer. Izuku will figure it out soon enough.

_And then we’ll have to figure out how to get you some better gear,_ he says, mind going over the possibilities. Walking around at night in hopes of developing Izuku’s skills is reckless and a little stupid, but it’s not like they can just ask someone to teach him how to fight. And there’s more to being a hero than just fighting, which means that as little as Tsuna likes it they’ll have to find him some sort of mentor.

“I think I can probably ask some of the support students for help with that,” Izuku muses, “although how I’m going to convince them to equip a Quirkless general studies student…”

_We’ll figure something out._

“I’ll have to re-read some of the hero laws if I’m really going to do this,” Izuku says, staring somewhat blankly at his notes, “I mean, there’s some pretty harsh punishments for using Quirks and vigilantism.”

_Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic_ , Tsuna says, _make it appear like you’re doing everything with technology and you’ll only have to worry about not getting caught._

“Right, if I can prove I don’t have a Quirk...most of the laws revolve around Quirk use, so...” Izuku agrees.

_But you’ll have to figure out how to do it without your real identity being known—otherwise they’ll find some other way to stop you,_ Tsuna nudges, words fading as the boy starts scribbling in his note, mind obviously consumed with his task. Ideas for equipment, for masks, for ways to go about unseen, as well as ways of disguising the flames as something that’s not Quirk based.

(Which they aren’t, he muses, since Flames are very much not Quirks at all. But no one else would really be able to tell.)

Tsuna leans back—metaphorically, at least, since he doesn’t really have a body to do so with—and contemplates his host. A full life of mafia-hood, death at a relatively old age for a famiglia boss, and now the slow progression into vigilantism. He smiles a little wryly to himself.

_Ah, Giotto, it looks like your descendants have finally come back to their roots._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out people really like this? To the point that someone wrote a fic inspired by it (that is much longer and more interesting tbh) so uhh...here you go

They plan late into the night. By the time the sun comes up, Izuku is exhausted and gummy-eyed, but it's worth it for the energy he can feel under his skin. He has so many ideas! So many things to research and check out and learn. And Tsuna has already promised to show him how to control the Flames.

First things first though, he needs to work on his physical strength, which means getting out of bed and dressed in some work out gear. He grabs his backpack from the door and empties out everything besides a few notebooks, pens, and a water bottle. The notebooks are for if he comes across any hero fights while out running, but also because something the voice said last night has piqued his interest.

 _Intuition training, huh?_ The voice says with a chuckle. Now that he knows it’s there, and not just a figment of his imagination, he can actually feel the emotions tied to the words a lot better. There’s almost a tone layered right under them that he’d missed before.

“Yep!” he chirps, tugging the straps over his shoulders. He figures he can play some memory games while resting in the park after his run—trying to remember important details or people he’ll encounter on his route. And then trying to intuite what or who they are.

He practically trips out his door in his enthusiasm, the sight of his mother in the kitchen just making him grin harder. She’d been so proud when he’d gotten into Yuuei, even if it wasn’t in the hero department. Last night they’d had a feast worth remembering, and this morning it looks like the celebration isn’t quite over.

“Izuku!” Inko cries when she sees him hovering by the entrance, in the process of plating something spicy and sweet smelling from a pot on the stove, “you’re up early.”

“I’m just so excited!” Izuku says with a grin, finally taking a seat at the table. He’d not been thinking of eating breakfast this morning, but the voice’s whispers are reciting the health risks of trying to exercise on low sleep and fuel, and he rethinks it. Not too mention he can’t refuse his mother’s cooking.

Not too much later he’s shoving his feet into shoes and running out the door, waving off his mother’s questions with a smile.

_You’re going to have to start small, at first. Your current physique is not terrible, but it leaves a lot to be desired still. We can talk about the rest of the plan while you run._

“Right,” Izuku nods, kicking off into a sedate jog. He’s had a lot of experience running, usually either from his classmates or towards hero fights, but he’s aiming for something a little more sustained today. Stamina is sometimes more important than speed, after all.

_The three main things you need to get stronger are means, resources, and time. We’re short on all three, but there’s somethings that we can do to fix that. Money so we can hire the right teachers, a place to practice outside the view of others, gear and weapons suited to our fighting style. We have three years until those our age will be stepping into the spotlight, let’s make the best of it._

“Right!”

—

Tsuna amps up his efforts with the underbelly. They’re going to be breaking the law, after all, even if only for so long as they get strong enough to enter into a hero agency. The city’s shallow underground—the one that’s just skirting both the really illegal activities and the law, somewhere in a grey ground for morality—is where he spends most of his time when Izuku is sleeping. He’s made contact with that one information broker and expanded his network slowly, person-by-person. From thieves to gamblers to conmen to low-ranking yakuza members, he follows the trail until he finds what he needs and moves on.

The thing he’s really looking for is a teacher for Izuku. It would need to be someone willing to overlook their vigilantism, but also someone who’s not themselves a threat to their future heroic endeavors. Which means it can't be a villain, and it can’t be a hero.

Slim pickings in this world of quirks and black and white morals, but he figures he’ll find someone if he can just pick apart the information in the right way. There’s always the option of trying to find a disillusioned retired hero or one of the villains with a twisted brand of honour. Or maybe they’ll just have to lie about it and hope it works out. Izuku does have a rather poignant charisma when he works at it, and combined with Sky Flames…

Well, no matter. He at least has a place to start at now.

“And you’ll keep this to yourself?” he asks the man in front of him, whose dead eyes speak of either extensive drug-use or hardcore depression, and who didn’t even blink at the sight of a fourteen-year-old in a faded hoodie hanging out behind a bar better known for its stab rate than its alcohol.

The man nods, a slow, ponderous thing, and Tsuna shrugs at the lukewarm reaction. He pockets his notebook—now with one more name inked onto the pages—and leaves him behind for the slightly more illuminated main road. He passes a few faces he recognises, a small-time arms dealer he’s bought from before, a few sex workers who tend to either turn their nose up at his age or fawn like he’s their own son, a drug dealer and his client, one small-time vigilante with a broken arm.

Not for the first time Tsuna wonders at how much of the city’s underbelly could be cleaned up with a few afterschool programs or anti-poverty initiatives. So much money goes into the capture of the more flashy villains, not to mention the clean-up from hero fights themselves, that it looks like a lot of the preventative measures against crime are left to the wayside. Heck, he only has to look to Izuku’s own school, where bullying and power plays are normal, to see the way it’s a breeding ground for villany.

Something to bring up the next time he and Izuku talk about plans for the future, perhaps. No use being a hero when the things you’re fighting for aren’t even solving the problem.

—

Days pass. Izuku gets used to waking up early to go running, spending his morning training his brain to remember details and expand his intuition. He’s gotten good at picking apart scant clues about the people around him to make little imaginary lives in his head. He tracks the villain fights through social media and goes even further with his analysis, deconstructing fighting styles and weaknesses and bad habits. And he starts doing the same to the villains as well, something he’d overlooked before as rather useless. They’re always defeated, after all, and therefore of little interest besides in what ways they challenge the pros.

_And if they escape prison, or are released with grudges?_

“Well I get that now,” he mutters into his notebook. It’s harder to analyse the villains because he doesn't have as much base info on them. Usually he doesn't even have a name, and just ends up calling them by some code sign or their Quirk.

_It’s good practice for when you’re chasing down villains yourself, sometimes it’s less high speed chase and more down and dirty detective work._

“It would be useful, yeah.” He bites the end of his pen between his teeth and squints at the fight blocking a good portion of the lunchtime rush. An acid-spitting Quirk against the rescue hero Backdraft seems pretty clear-cut on the surface. The acid can’t dissolve water like it can most of the other heroes’ Quirks on scene, and Backdraft can fight from a distance too. The villain doesn’t have a whole lot of fighting experience, so the fact that Backdraft is a rescue hero and not usually tasked with fighting and capturing isn’t that big of a deal.

So it’s a pretty one-way fight, except that it’s also doing a lot of collateral damage, considering the fact that even the diluted acid is eating through concrete and they have to keep pushing the crowds back to stop them from getting injured.

And yet—

_They’re being stupid about it._

“Yeah, spending too much energy trying to cancel out his Quirk when the real danger is leaving the acid to build up as much as it is. Can’t get close, but they’re not taking advantage of their long-range attacks either, so he has a lot of room to escape.” He’s mumbling, he can tell, but the crowd is loud enough no one can really hear him anyways.

“Backdraft should be able to restrain the villain with water ropes, but he’s getting distracted by trying to keep the acid diluted enough to not damage the surroundings too much—he’s obviously used to working with a team, and not solo.”

His writing is interrupted by someone knocking into his elbow, and he looks up to apologise only to see whoever it is leaning over him and reading his notes.

“He’s probably more worried about injuries than capturing the villain, most rescue heroes are like that,” the boy says.

He’s lanky, with tired eyes and slump shoulders, but there’s something intense about him that has the voice perking up with interest in his head.

“Uhh,” he stutters, pulling away slightly. It’s a little off-putting to have someone else reading his notes, if only because he knows most people find it weird and creepy themselves. But the other boy just blinks at him tiredly and nods.

“Someone was saying that the villain was trying to rob a bank but I don’t see any money anywhere,” the boy offers, and Izuku blinks before snapping his attention back to the scene.

“Could be he had to ditch it when the pros showed up—but no, he wouldn’t be trying to escape so much if it were that, and he’s not holding a bag or anything that like that…”

“Maybe he had an accomplice!” a perky voice says to his right, and both him and the tired boy turn to see a cute girl in a tracksuit trying to peek over the crowd. Izuku feels his face turn red on its own, sandwiched as he is by two strangers paying attention to him. Especially when one’s a cute girl.

The voice is laughing at him, he can tell.

“That would make sense,” the boy says with a nod.

“Um,” Izuku stutters again, and the girl jumps.

“Oh sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt, but you looked like you were having so much fun analysing everything I felt like I had to join in,” she says with a grin. “My name is Uraraka Ochako.”

“Shinsou Hitoshi,” the boy replies, straightening a little and looking expectantly at Izuku.

“Oh, um, Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku replies, somewhat bewildered. He’s not sure exactly how to deal with people just randomly introducing themselves and talking about hero battles with him. Most of the time his muttering annoys people.

“Oh man, I was supposed to help out at the new job site but at this rate it’ll take hours for the roads to clear,” Uraraka says with a sigh.

“They might keep them closed for longer if there is an accomplice and they need to retrieve the money,” Shinsou replies. Izuku looks from one to the other and then back down at his notebook.

“...Based on his fighting style and escape attempts, if there is an accomplice, I don't think they’re still on scene. They could have left earlier in the chaos when there were fewer heroes gathered, or they could have a Quirk that makes escape easier. It would be better in that case to capture the acid villain quickly and use the time before the surroundings are repaired to investigate...”

“In short, the pros are wasting their time,” Shinsou sums up, and Izuku cringes. It still feels wrong to criticise people who have been in the business for so long, but the voice keeps reminding him that it’s impossible to improve if you don’t look for flaws. Still, it’s hard.

“Do you think it’ll take much longer?” Uraraka asks, looking at her watch.

Izuku hums, eyeing the fight still going on. The villain is starting to get tired, but he’s also starting to get desperate. At the rate the fight is going there’s a good chance Backdraft will be able to restrain him soon, but whether he can do that before the acid builds up is a little more uncertain.

“A few more minutes I think,” he says slowly. The voice doesn’t disagree, so he figures he’s mostly right.

“In that case we should exchange emails before they open the roads again. You’re both going to Yuuei right?” she replies, already taking out her phone.

“Ehh? How can you tell?” Izuku flinches. At his other side Shinsou blinks at her in somewhat less surprise.

“Are you not? I assumed since you were so interested in hero tactics and you’re my age… And, well, I think I saw both of you on the day of the exams?” Uraraka replies, scratching her head.

“Was only able to get into General Studies, but I hear they’ll let you move into Heroics if you impress the teachers,” Shinsou says, something a little bitter in his voice. Izuku blinks.

“You too?” Izuku asks.

“That’s great though! I’m sure we’ll see each other a lot at school, even if we are in different classes,” Uraraka chirps, phone once again pointedly open.

Izuku glances at Shinsou and shrugs. He’s not going to argue with the cute girl who wants his phone number, even if the idea of someone just deciding to be his friend seems so totally foreign.

—

Having friends is...weird. Uraraka seems determined to drag both him and Shinsou out for no other reason than because she likes their company, and although it baffles him he soon learns why.

Uraraka, like Izuku, has no other friends. This seems weird to him, since she’s so cheerful and nice, and even to someone like him who finds it awkward to talk to a girl he doesn’t really know, she’s rather comforting to hang with. By Shinsou’s constantly furrowed brow, Izuku thinks the other boy also feels the disconnect.

It makes sense for Izuku, as a Quirkless nerd, to have no real friends now that Kacchan has discarded him. And after learning about Shinsou’s Quirk, it makes sense for him to be isolated too. It’s not fair, but it makes sense. In contrast, the reason why Uraraka is friendless seems so pointless and stupid.

“Ah, my parent’s business hasn’t been doing great for, well, more than a couple years now! There was a year where we were late in getting me a new uniform for school, and well, it’s hard to get rid of the stigma of being the only one in class with old clothing…”

Izuku stares blankly at her for a couple seconds. He tries to imagine caring about something as small as whether or not a classmate has money for a new uniform and fails.

“That’s it?” Shinsou asks, echoing his thoughts.

Uraraka laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing at her head. They’re sitting at a small cafe not that far from where they first met, and suddenly the tea she’s been nervously nursing for the past hour makes more sense. That sort of frugalness is the kind of thing Izuku has never had to deal with, considering his father sends them enough money every month that most things aren’t a worry. The stuff that he has had to save for—All Might memorabilia, Hero Convention tickets, gifts for his mom—has all been stuff that he’s been able to buy without a guilty conscience.

“But it’s ok! I’ll be able to become a hero and make lots of money through an agency, and then my parents won’t have to worry about anything anymore,” she says. There’s a determined look in her eyes that has the voice rolling in smugness for a few minutes.

“Oh, but that’s not very wholesome is it? To be a hero for money…” Her whole body seems to deflate at her own words.

“No, no! I think that’s great that you’re trying to help out your parents! And I mean, being a hero IS a job,” Izuku frantically says, waving his hands to try to disperse her sudden embarrassment.

“It’s not uncommon for people to get into Heroics because of the money involved,” Shinsou agress, leaning back, “and at least you’re not getting in it for the vanity or fame. You’re actually probably one of the more genuine ones out there, if you consider the others.”

“Ahh, even so…” Uraraka sighs, rubbing her head. She seems a little relieved though, and Izuku realises that she probably was worried they would think less of her, especially since all three of them are friends because of their interest in heroes.

“Speaking of,” he starts, dragging the conversation back to its initial topic, “did you hear of the legal snafu that Crysalis and Knight X have gotten into with that one big fanartist?”

—

Classes start that Monday, and Izuku beefs up his exercise routine while he can. Strength training gets added once the voice determines he’s got the stamina for it, and he thinks he can feel a difference in his muscle mass already.

_Most of that is just swelling from suddenly working so hard, but you’re lucky that with Flames you’ll have an easier time gaining and keeping muscles. It tends to work as a general enhancement even when not consciously used, keeping you from getting sick and repairing the body at an accelerated rate. Now that you’re training though, it will work better and with better results._

“Which is why you’re making me do this at the same time,” Izuku muses. This being keeping a consistent Flame active while working out, which tires him out twice as fast and leaves him barely enough attention to make sure he doesn’t mess up the exercises.

_Eventually you’ll be able to use it to strengthen your hits and protect against injury._

Izuku is distracted from answering by the sound of his phone going off. He carefully sets down the weights he was using and fishes it out of his discarded sweater pocket.

❀Ochako❀ ( _4:24pm_ )  
_Did you guys get any pre-class reading materials? There’s so many for Heroics!_ (⇀‸↼‶)

That Dude ( _4:25pm_ )  
 _mind sharing those? could be useful_

Izuku careful types back, hands a little sore and cramped from lifting weights all afternoon.

Me ( _4:27pm_ )  
_yeah, I wouldn’t mind taking a look too! Sounds interesting_

❀Ochako❀ ( _4:28pm_ )  
_Sure!_ (๑‵●‿●‵๑)

It’s quiet for a few minutes, and he goes back to his workout with something besides Flames warming his gut. He’s just started his cooldown when the phone buzzes again.

That Dude ( _5:02pm_ )  
|◉‿◉)‿◉)

Me (5:02pm)  
_what the???_

That Dude ( _5:03pm_ )  
_its us outside your place_

Me ( _5:03pm_ )  
_wait what_

Izuku looks out the window, and sure enough he sees Shinsou’s purple hair and Uraraka’s cheerful wave on the sidewalk in front. Shinsou is still typing on his phone by the looks of it, and he feels his phone buzz in his hands.

That Dude ( _5:04pm_ )  
_hurry up, were going shopping for hero stuff_

Izuku stares at his phone for a second, the words not really registering. His phone buzzes again.

❀Ochako❀ ( _5:05pm_ )  
_Mido-kun! We can seeeeee youuuuuuu._ \\( ｡･▿･｡)人( ‾ ^ ‾ )/

Me ( _5:06pm_ )  
_Is that supposed to be you and Shinsou?_

❀Ochako❀ ( _5:06pm_ )  
\\( ｡･▿･｡)人( ‾ ^ ‾ )人( *°▽°* )/ _this could be you but you playin_

Based on the way Shinsou is leaning into Uraraka, he’s pretty sure she wasn’t the one to actually type that.

Me ( _5:07pm_ )  
_Coming, coming_

Izuku quickly gathers his things and heads out, stopping by the kitchen to tell his mom he’ll be out for a bit. He has to escape before both of them start crying—he’s a sympathetic crier, and she’s just been so happy lately, especially since he’s somehow gotten friends so suddenly.

—

There’s rumours in the underground that are just a tad strange even for a place that prides itself on the strange. It started a few months back but only recently gathered steam, and the pace at which it’s growing lends to its credulity.

It’s about a boy, and a notebook of names.

At first no one pays too much attention to it. There are many boys who edge the line of the underground, getting pulled in too young, to become runners for the gangs or lookouts for the dealers. Even if this was a boy not previously affiliated with any known group, newcomers and runaways show up every day.

So when he starts talking with the junkies and prostitutes and information collectors, it’s brushed off. Even when he starts asking very specific questions—who to look out for, who’s fighting who this week, what product is getting pushed this month, which bar has the best whiskey—it’s ignored. In fact, if it weren’t for the few of said information collector’s own nosy habits, it would probably be ignored for quite a few more months.

But it turns out this boy isn’t a runaway, or a sex worker’s child, or someone who’s run in with the gangs or yakuza. In fact, this is a boy from a middle class family who’s notorious for his obsession with heroes. These two facts don’t match up—why would a straight-laced kid with a family and no money issues go looking for people in back alleys and bars?

So there’s a bit of gossip. Doesn’t help that there’s something very intense about his eyes, the sort of thing that you except in someone much older. It’s a mystery, and if there’s one thing the underground loves, it’s a mystery.

Stendhal leans against a wall, listening to the rabble gossip. He hasn’t seen the boy himself yet, but just off the whispers and idle chatter, he’s pretty sure he’s the only one who’s realised exactly what he’s angling for with his questions. It’s something he once did himself, after all. And the book of names isn’t all that subtle.

He pushes off the wall and slips out of the alleyway, slinking away unnoticed. His mask itches, and the fumes of the underbelly don’t help any, but it’s useful for going unseen and for his actual work. People are so used to heroes and villains and vigilantes going about that a man in a simple white mask is so tame he might as well be part of the background. And his parents used to call _him_ dramatic. At least he’s not running around in spandex or a full suit of armour or painting himself to look like a construction advertisement from the nineties.

The path home—or as close to home as he’s got nowadays—doesn’t take long. He’s not even slowed down today with any attempted robberies, murders, or rapes. In fact, this area of the underground seems rather quiet today, and he’s not arrogant enough to think it’s because of him. More than likely one of the gangs or yakuza groups is planning something big and everyone is running scared trying to figure out where the shit will land. The calm before the storm, as it were.

That’s fine. Stendhal is always ready for the low-lifes to make their move. He’s good at waiting in the shadows, to be unseen and unheard until such a time as his particular skill set is needed.

He’s hands go the blade at his back and he can’t quite stop the smile from forming on his lips.

Whether this boy is looking for a mentor or not, that’s not his problem. He’ll find someone willing to teach him the ropes, or he’ll give up, maybe even die from his questions catching the wrong sort of attention. Stendhal has no time to be babysitting children, especially not hero wannabes who probably don’t know the right end of a knife, never mind a sword.

No interest at all


End file.
